


Pause For Thought

by Ina MacAllan (inamac)



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-11
Updated: 2011-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Ina%20MacAllan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwood reflects on his past, and Professor Moriarty's future...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pause For Thought

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended as the start of a long post-2009 movie fic – but it has been in my 'to do' file for so long that the 2011 movie is almost upon us, so, pending further canon, this is my fix-it.

  
**Pause for Thought**   


As the four-wheeler rattled over the cobbles of Leadenhall the man who had been known as Lord Blackwood, leaned back to contemplate his latest demise.

It had been no less spectacular than the first, though the preamble had been rather shorter than the long days spent in the new Gothic splendour of Pugin's Palace of Westminster.

He had enjoyed the trial though – the Lords assembled in their ermine to judge one whom they very much wished was not their own. And that pompous old fool Summerton, so disappointed that he had declined the option of facing the headsman's axe like a gentleman, rather than the common criminal's rope.

He smiled. His execution of his first – execution – had taken a certain amount of courage and risk, the drug that helped him feign death was not something that one took with equanimity. The preparation for the second demise... well, that had been merely a matter of choreography, ensuring that Holmes and his tame physician reached the incomplete gantry of Tower Bridge without noticing the body already bound in chains and ready to thrust over the edge at the same moment he took his own, long practiced dive into the murky Thames.

The vagrant had looked enough like him, even before asphyxiation and the bruising from the heavy chains, for the identification to be accepted.

And so the identity of 'Lord Blackwood' was finally forfeit, as had been the identity of the soldier before it and a dozen others, rich and poor, male and invert (he had never gone so far as impersonating a female, but only because the necessity had not arisen).

Blackwood had been useful; a Baronetcy opened many doors; but he had never had any respect for those who were impressed by a hereditary title, no matter that his mother's husband, from whom he had inherited it, had not been his father. An accident of birth had given him the education and fortune of a gentleman (if not, precisely, the instincts) but he had earned the title by which his beautiful companion addressed him his own efforts.

"Professor Moriarty? Where to now?"

Where indeed? There was a world of possibilities open to him. Plans to lay and lackeys to employ. He wondered, as he gave the coachman their destination, whether he would again have the chance to match his intellect with that of Mr Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
